Backseat Conversations
by YourOnlyBelle
Summary: ONESHOT. PRESERIES. John remembers conversations he's heard in the backseat of the Impala.


-1Backseat Conversations

Pairings: Meh. Mentions of John and Mary, Mentions of Dean/OC

Characters: John, little Dean, little Sammy, older Dean, older Sam

Disclaimer: John, Dean, and Sam Winchester belong to the genius mind of Eric Kripke, et al. And the Impala belongs to Chevy and Eric Kripke. That brilliant car is a character too you know. I am not making money with this piece of fiction.

Summary: ONESHOT. John looks back on conversations he's overheard in the backseat of the Impala.

Author's Note: This one came to me during the middle of the night. It was 4 A.M. and I was watching Salvation and had the most random idea ever. So, yeah…read and review, please.

Backseat Conversations

The minute John Winchester held his oldest son in his arms, he promised he would be there. He promised he'd be there for everything the little boy would go through. He made the same promise when the doctor handed him Samuel John Winchester. "I'll never leave you, little guy," he had said softly to the boy before handing him to his exhausted and yet glowing wife. Their happiness, they believed, was complete with little Sammy. Dean adored the baby, was extremely protective of him, and told everyone he met that he was a big brother. And John was there, just as he promised. He took Dean to his first t-ball practice, to doctors' appointments, to play dates. He was always up to help Mary with Sammy, even if it was three thirty in the morning and he had to be up for work at six. His boys were his boys, he would never leave them.

After Mary's murder by the evil that had decided to touch their lives, he realized he would have to revise his plan to always be with his sons. He had to hunt Mary's killer down. He had to kill the son of a bitch that had murdered his beautiful wife. And so he promised to be there for the big things. First day of school, first date, first time trying a cigarette or a beer, first time to shoot a gun, first time to melt silver into bullets, first kill. These were the things he promised to be there for. These were the things he wanted his sons to remember him for. Their firsts.

He was there for Dean's first day of school. The five year old had stood in front of the school, holding his father's hand, who was holding Sammy. "Do I have to, Dad?" he stared at his father, his big green eyes begging for absolution.

"Yeah, son, you do," John had nodded, his heart breaking when Dean pouted. It was going to be hard without Dean home all day. He didn't trust anyone with Sam, and so he would be home all day with a one year old who was just beginning to walk. And the fact was, he had failed with his plan to always be there for Sammy's firsts. He had been on a hunt when the baby took his first awkward steps towards Dean and the five year old had answered his nightly call with such excitement in his voice, John couldn't understand a word he had been saying.

He was sleeping when Sammy said his first word, which was actually his older brother's name. Not Dada. Not Mama. Dean. Perfectly and clearly. So it was obvious that the ten month old wanted his brother, not his father. And Dean obliged perfectly. Up until Sammy was three, he would sleep in the same bed with the boy, holding him as close as possible. At first, John had tried to discourage it, but after a sleepless night where both boys couldn't sleep and Sam spent all night crying, he decided there was very little harm in his sons sleeping in the same bed.

It was this closeness that led to Dean being there for many of Sammy's firsts, and vice versa. John was there, yes, but the boys were really there for each other. Talking excitedly in the backseat of the Impala, John up front playing Aerosmith and Led Zeppelin. The boys had always sat in the back, Dean talking to his brother well before the boy could form words. John had never listened to the early conversations, as he assumed it was nothing but toddler talk and ways to entertain the youngest member of their family. But after Sammy's first day of school, John began to listen.

The little boy was already reading his nine year old brother's chapter books when John announced to him that the next day would be his first day of kindergarten. At first, the boy had been so excited, he had yelled all through out the day that he was a big kid now. However, when the morning actually came for Sammy to go to school, he became very quiet. The boys had eaten their Lucky Charms in silence, and then they piled into the Impala. John in the front, Sam and Dean in the back. Sammy was unusually quiet, and John gave Dean a look as they got in. A look that asked his oldest to talk to the boy, to find out what exactly was the matter. John's biggest fear was that Sam would say something about his mother. He never knew exactly what to say when Mary was brought up, but he was thinking about her today, as he did every time he was there for a first with the boys, and sometimes even when he wasn't.

As they started driving, John turned on his usual Led Zeppelin mix and turned it up, looking in the backseat as Dean turned to Sammy and started talking. He gave them a few minutes to really get into it, and then he turned down the music, hoping to catch a glimpse into his youngest son's mind. "Where did we live before this?" Dean was asking Sam.

"Lawrence, Kansas," Sam answered.

John paused for a moment, a frown darkening his features. They had lived in North Dakota before this. Dean knew that. What the hell was the boy doing? "Right," Dean was saying. "And what does Daddy do?"

"He's a hunter," Sammy said proudly.

"No, Sammy," Dean said sternly, "you can't tell anyone Dad's a hunter. No one will believe you and you'll get sent to the principal and they'll call Dad. So you can't tell anyone. You tell people Dad's a traveling salesman. Okay?"

"Okay, Dean," Sammy sighed as he nodded.

"And what happened to Mom?" Dean continued his questioning.

"She went to heaven cause of a car 'dent," Sam said carefully.

"Right," Dean said firmly. "And Sammy, no matter what anyone says, you can't tell them ghosts are real. You can't. Okay? You just can't."

"Okay, Dean," Sammy nodded solemnly and then turned back to the window. John swallowed the lump in his throat as he turned up the radio again, his heart aching. His oldest son was teaching his youngest to lie. To lie to his teachers about his life. Which was fine with him, he had told Dean himself to use the traveling salesman lie. But the lie about where they were from was odd. He sent a small apology to Mary in heaven, sorry for turning his sons into world class liars, for not giving them a real life.

The second conversation John could clearly remember, especially years later when Sammy complained about hunting, was during a twelve hour drive from Oklahoma to Illinois. Dean was ten and had just completed his first successful salt and burn. He walked around as if he were a man now, as if Sammy's childish road games were below him. He was sitting in the front seat for the first six hours, stretched out on the seat, a smirk on his face. _Little shit_ John couldn't help but think. It had been a typical, simple job, not one that required a lot of strength or bravery, but the way Dean was talking about it to Sam, it sounded like the ghost had nearly killed him and Dean was lucky to have made it out alive. It was typical Dean-behavior. The ten year old was beginning to develop one hell of an attitude, though never to his father, just to Sam and to strangers. He was a cocky kid, and John knew he should put the boy in his place, but he didn't have the heart to do so.

After they had stopped at a gas station to fill up and to grab some snacks for the road, Dean climbed into the backseat with his younger brother, who was very quiet and morose. Sammy was moody, it was just the way he was. The six year old wore his emotions on his sleeve, and people adored him for it. Both John and Dean had noticed that the more Dean had rambled on about the hunt, the more the six year old sulked. And so, Dean moved into the back seat after the gas station and smiled at his younger brother. At first, John turned up the radio, but he turned it back down when he noticed Dean talking to Sammy. "I'll give you my peanut M&Ms if you tell me what's the matter."

"That's your favorite," Sammy said.

"I know," Dean sighed. "But seriously, dork, what's the matter with you? You're acting like a girl."

"Am not."

"Are too."

"Am not!"

"Are too!"

John considered saying something to stop the disagreement but Dean fixed it. "Am not."

"Are too!" Sammy spluttered and then realized he had been tricked. "Dean!"

Dean laughed. "Sorry, little brother, it was too easy. Or should I call you little sister?"

"Shut up, Dean," Sammy whined.

"Hey," John said from the front seat, raising his eyebrows at Sam in the rearview mirror. "Language, Samuel."

"Sorry," Sam sighed and John turned up the radio again until he heard Sammy's small voice talking again. "I want to hunt like you and Daddy."

"Well you can't, Sammy," Dean said. "You're not old enough."

"I am!" Sammy insisted. "I'm a big boy. And I'm smart, the teachers say so."

"Yeah," Dean nodded, "but you can't even hold a gun, Sammy. And you're still a kid."

"So are you!"

"Yeah, but I'm ten," Dean said wisely. "Which makes me a really big kid."

"It's not fair," Sam's voice was threatening a temper tantrum. "I want to hunt! It's not fair that I stay with Pastor Jim and you and Daddy get to do things. Why can't I come too?"

"Cause you'll get hurt," Dean said. "And the ghosts will get you cause you're small. You can't hunt yet, Sammy."

"When will I hunt, Dean?"

"When you can hold a gun," Dean replied.

"Promise?"

"Pinky swear." John smiled as he imagined the boys linking their fingers in a promise. He sent a prayer to Mary, asking her forgiveness for turning their boys into hunters, but also thanking her for the boys.

Sam's desire to hunt like his father and brother faded within the few years. By the time the boy was ten, any thoughts he had given to hunting were gone. He wanted to be like his friends, normal. He wanted to stop moving around. He wanted other things. Usually, John was able to guilt his son into submission; one mention of Mary and Sam would quiet his protests. But as Dean began to really develop his attitude, Sam started to develop his stubborn personality. John, of course, thought he had everything in control. Until one day when he picked the boys up from school. Sam wouldn't look at him, and Dean had fire in his eyes. "Okay, boys, we'll get home---"

"Back to the hotel," Sam grumbled.

"What was that, Samuel?"

"Nothing," Sam replied. "Sir."

"Good," John nodded. "We'll get home and you can change. Training today. Bow hunting and running."

"Yes, sir," Dean said and then fell silent for a few moments. John turned up the radio but turned it down when he heard his oldest son's slowly deepening voice talking to his brother. "Cause you can't, Sam. You know that. So don't start anything."

"I'm not," Sam hissed. "I don't wanna start anything. But Dean, the coach said I'd be real good. I don't wanna bow hunt. I wanna play soccer."

"Well, you can't," Dean repeated. "Bow hunting's really important, Sam, if you ever want to go hunting."

"Yeah, well, I don't," Sam stated. "I want to play soccer. I could do it, Dean. I could."

"No, Sammy, you can't."

"Sam."

"What?"

"I'm not Sammy," the boy ordered, "I'm Sam."

"Yeah, whatever, Sammy," Dean chuckled. "Look, just forget about it. Don't even tell Dad about it. Just forget about it."

"No," Sam said firmly. "I want to play soccer. Like the rest of the kids. If Mom were here, she'd let me play soccer."

John's hands gripped against the steering wheel and he pulled the car over, turning to look at Sam and Dean. Dean was staring at his younger brother, tears shining in the green eyes, struggling to come up with an answer. "You're right, Sam," John growled, "if your mother were here you'd be playing soccer. And Dean would be playing baseball. And we'd be living in a house. But do you know why your mother isn't here? Because some evil son of a bitch killed your mother. And if you gave a damn about that, then you wouldn't ask to play soccer. You'd want to kill that evil son of a bitch. If you'd take a minute to care about anyone but your damn self, you wouldn't want to play soccer."

"Dad---" Dean cut in.

"Shut up, Dean."

"Yes, sir," Dean nodded.

"Do you have anything else you'd like to say to me, Samuel?"

Sam shook his curly head. "No, sir," he whispered as he looked down.

"Good," John turned around and started the car again. "That will be two extra miles, Sam." It was their first official fight and John found he couldn't breathe after it. Sammy was his youngest, his baby. And he was losing him.

Sam wasn't the only one though to cause problems in the backseat. Dean was a month shy of his sixteenth birthday when he lost his virginity to a girl named Karen in the backseat of the Impala Dean had borrowed that night. They left town the next day and Dean had a shit-eating grin on his face for the first couple hours of the drive. "Life is good," he said to eleven year old Sam as they sat in the backseat.

"Why?" Sam asked as he turned the page of the book he was reading. He was so unlike his father and brother. He was studious and loved to read. He read anything he could get his hands on, and while it was helpful for the research portion of any job, it also seriously hampered Sam's hunting time. In fact, eleven year old Sam hadn't been on a hunt by himself yet. He trained with few complaints, but his heart wasn't in it. Not in the way Dean's heart was in it.

"Because, Sammy," Dean grinned, "I got rid of a poltergeist and I got laid last night."

"What's that?" Sam raised his eyebrows.

"What's what?" Dean asked.

"Laid," Sam repeated.

"It's when you have sex, dork," Dean laughed. "And damn, Sammy, it feels good. Best fucking day of my life."

"Dean," John looked into the rearview mirror. "Come to the front."

"Why?" Dean asked, a smirk playing at the corner of his lips.

"I don't need a reason," John said firmly. "Get your ass up to the front." Dean sighed and crawled into the front seat, buckling his seatbelt quickly. "I don't need you talking to Sam about your sex life."

"Why not, Dad?"

"Because he's eleven, Dean," John reminded him. "No sex talk, do you understand me?"

"Yes, sir," Dean nodded. "Though, I was just trying to educate my baby brother on the finer things in life."

That was the day John went into a gas station and bought a box of condoms for his nearly sixteen year old son.

Once Dean turned sixteen and John gave him the Impala, there weren't many other backseat conversations. The teenager and Sam usually rode in the classic car while John drove his new truck. It surprised him how lonely it was in the truck by himself while Sam and Dean joked around with each other in the Impala. Every once in a while, Sam rode with his dad, but mostly, it was with Dean. There were times when John felt a little bit of resentment towards his oldest, who Sam loved and worshipped. The more Sammy grew up, the more John lost him. Even after Sam's first hunt at thirteen, a time when John should have felt proud of his son, should have considered him a man, John Winchester felt as if Sam was just a cousin of some sort. Not obligated to stay, and with every intention of leaving.

But he tried to deny this. He tried to pretend the fights they were having every day was just Sam being a very bratty teenager. The fights escalated. Dean usually stepped in the middle to mediate. Sam would then slam a door and leave for a bit, Dean running after him while John had a drink or two. It was the way life was in the Winchester family. At least, until an unusually warm day in April. The truck had broken down and John was driving that old Impala, the boys in the back. Dean was twenty-two now, a strong man with a wild streak. Girls fell over him and his smile. Dean knew the power he had over women and enjoyed it thoroughly.

Sammy was no longer the chubby twelve year old he had once been. Now, just a month away from his eighteenth birthday, he stood at six four, three inches taller than his brother. He had had a couple of girlfriends, but mostly, Sam kept to himself and studied. In fact, it was all Sam ever did. Study and read. And hunt. But the hunting wasn't going very well for Sam.

John turned up the radio and then turned it down to overhear the conversation Dean and Sam were having, a smile playing on his lips as he remembered Dean's ramblings just seventeen years earlier. "Were you even going to tell me?" Dean asked.

"Yeah, I was," Sam replied. "But I was waiting for the good time to tell Dad."

"So you're just going to leave."

"It's a full ride, Dean. To Stanford. I can't turn that down."

"What about me and Dad?" Dean growled. "You're just going to walk away from your family?"

"Yes."

"You're a selfish prick," Dean stated. "A selfish fucking prick, Sammy. "You're a hunter. You're looking for mom's killer. You don't get to just up and leave for fucking California."

"Mom would let me go," Sam said and then the backseat was quiet.

That was the night John and Sammy had their last fight. It was the night he kicked his son out of his home, out of his family. It was the night Dean tried to crack jokes to relieve the pressure. It was the night John stared at the ceiling and asked for guidance before making the decision that angels didn't exist. It was the night John stopped thanking Mary for anything. It was the night a part of John Winchester died.


End file.
